


Upper Hand

by ellydash



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Phone Sex, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellydash/pseuds/ellydash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's doing this to get a reaction out of her. This is his reason. It's a good reason. Post-episode for "Funk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upper Hand

The first time Sue calls, late at night, Will thinks it’s Terri.

“Hello?” he says, distracted, in the middle of reminding himself to tell Finn to work on breath control during “Faithfully.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Terri?” he asks. She’s done this before, called him, waited for Will to start talking, give her something to get through the long hours alone when the sounds of the TV aren’t enough to fill the aching quiet.

Still no response.

“You’ve got to stop calling, Terri,” Will tells her, and hangs up.

*

The second time she calls, he’s already in bed, and he grabs the receiver on his bedside table, prepared to be firmer with her. He can’t take these late night calls anymore; hearing Terri’s silence has the effect of scraping over still-fresh abrasions.

“William,” Sue says, and Will thinks that his name in her mouth sounds just like all the trophies Sue’s ever collected. “I was planning on letting you think I was your ex-wife again, but I’m not sure I could hold back the urge to _guffaw_ at your overwhelming stupidity.”

Will isn’t quite sure what to say.

“Oh, William.” Sue’s purring with what Will knows is the pleasure of the utterly self-assured.

“Jesus, Sue, why are you calling me?” He’s honestly baffled. “You’ve got plenty of hours in the school day to torment me. I thought you spent your weekends and evenings thinking up new insults for my hair, or my clothes, or my pedagogical philosophy - ”

“Your pedagogy is based around inappropriate boundaries and horrific hair role-modeling. I swear to God those boys’ thick locks have begun involuntarily transforming into beauty-pageant ringlets.”

“You just can’t leave well-enough alone, can you?” Will asks, twisting to one side. “I told you already that I’m sorry for that trick – and you’ve got your trophy, your conformation that you’re the winner and I’m the loser.”

He can hear her purse her lips through the phone, he’s almost sure of it, and his stomach twists uncomfortably as he remembers that mouth nearly on his, just a few days earlier.

“It’s no fun when you _admit_ it,” she snaps. “You’ve got to do better than that, Will.”

She hangs up.

Will doesn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, and when he does he dreams of bright reds and greens and blues, primary colors, Terri’s arms, and laughter, and unmanicured fingernails pressing into his hand.

*

The third night, he knows it’s her before he picks up the phone.

“Is this your thing now?” he asks. “Late night taunting?”

“You smell like failure even over the phone,” Sue says, happily.

“I _had_ you,” he returns, because he’s been thinking about this throughout the day (_Sunday chores: lesson planning, vacuuming, dry cleaning, writing comebacks_) and he’ll be damned if she gets to call him on his weekends, his only Sue-free space, and tell him what a shit he is without some kind of response. “You fell for the whole thing – my dance, my presents, the date – everything.”

“Is that the best you can come up with?” She’s sneering. “After a whole day – Will, let me tell you what I’m imagining you did with your day. I’m imagining you with your laptop at some place that makes godawful coffee, sitting next to some misguided hipster working on his screenplay, whose future matches yours disappointment for disappointment, and you have this document up on your screen, and it’s saved as SUECOMEBACKS.DOC, and it’s blank, and you’re crying into your crappy coffee.”

Will barely hears her after those first few words. “You spend an awful lot of time thinking about me, don’t you, Sue?”

“It’s hard not to be awed by constant mediocrity.”

He’s got it. He knows exactly where to take this to shut her up – or, at least, to throw her off balance, which might be even better. “What did you think about me after I danced for you?”

There’s a small pause, small enough that if Will hadn’t been looking for it, he might’ve missed it. “I told you, William. I was bored by your George Michael moves and horrified by your Justin Timberlake-circa-1998 hair.”

“No, you weren’t,” he says. “Do you want to know what I thought about?”

“How much hair product it takes to build a successful glee club?”

He’d planned on lowering his voice here, just a little, but his breath, that’s coming more quickly then he’d like; he doesn’t want to overdo this.

“You. I thought about you,” he tells her. “Sue – ”

“If you think,” she interrupts, and he can hear a note of real anger, “that I’m falling for your pathetic prank again – ”

Will knows that it’s now or never. “Listen to me – shut up – listen – fuck, Sue, I was _hard_, okay, dancing for you made me so hard – I’m going to tell you what I did after you left – seriously, be _quiet _\- ”

And she is, her quick and startled and nonsensical protestations cut off at the root. Will suddenly feels in control for the first time since he’d looked at his watch and realized Sue was waiting for him at a restaurant, all alone.

“You know that closet in the back of the music room? I went in there,” he tells her, “because I couldn’t wait – I had to take care of it - ” 

“ – God, you’re such an impatient little - ” she cuts in, her breathing harsh.

Will’s got a smile on his face now, swelled with the triumph of having the upper hand. His story is bullshit, of course – none of this happened, not even the hard-on (_well, maybe that, _his subconscious amends, and he pushes it away). He’s doing this to get a reaction out of her. This is his reason. It’s a good reason.

“I unzipped my jeans – Sue – are you listening to me? – and God, I was so turned on, I took my cock in my hand and I couldn’t stop myself, this _whine_ came out of me, I was thinking about you and the way you looked at me when I danced for you – ”

She’s panting now, into the phone, and this is suddenly getting serious very quickly, because his hand’s down his pants and he _is_ thinking about the way she looked at him then and he’s thinking about the sounds she’s making now, little sounds like he’d never imagined could come from Sue Sylvester. Human, needy sounds.

“Sue - ”

“Will,” she says, and it’s almost a gasp, “you idiotic manchild, keep talking.”

“I thought about you while I fucked my fist,” he tells her, and he didn’t then, that never happened, it’s all a lie made up to unsettle her, but he’s making it true right now, his fingers curled around his twitching cock. “I wanted it to be you – I want – fuck – you here, insulting me – I want to make you make those sounds while you’re telling me I’ve failed, that my hair is –”

“Your hair looks like cotton balls were genetically combined with fusillipasta,” Sue manages.

“Sue,” he pants, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m - ” She hesitates. “I’m not gonna let you get the upper hand, Will Schuester.”

“If you were here,” he starts, and he’s too far gone now to think about what he’s saying, “if you were here I’d go down on you, make you moan, make you – I’d lick your cunt - ”

She does moan, hearing him use those words, and he can imagine her on the other end of the line, those track suit bottoms puddled at the end of the bed, her fingers working between her legs. His fist pumps his cock harder, harder.

“I’d make you tell me you _liked_ it,” he breathes.

“I wouldn’t – tell you – wouldn’t give you the satisfaction – ”

“Sue,” Will says. He’s close, he’s riding the edge. “I’m going to fuck you. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

She’s gasping now, sounding less like herself then he ever thought possible. “No.”

“Tomorrow,” he says clearly. “I’m going to find you, and I’m going to take you into that closet in the music room, during lunch period – ”

Will hears her come then, a ricochet of sounds into his ear, and the thought that he can make Sue Sylvester undone with the power of suggestion is enough to send him over the edge. He grunts into the receiver, a staccato _huh-huh-huh_ as seed spills over his fist.

By the time he’s aware enough to listen for her at the other end of the line, her breathing sounds nearly regular.

“You wouldn’t have the courage,” she says, and hangs up.

Will knows a challenge when he hears one.

 


End file.
